Miss Hudson
by KaterinaPetrova1967
Summary: The boys of 221B get a new flatmate. Mrs. Hudson's neice moves in with them for the next few months. Will she be able to handle the craziness that seems to follow them everywhere? Will they be able to handle her troubled heart? OC/?
1. The New Flatmate

AN: GUYS I'M WRITING A SHERLOCK FIC! I'm so excited! This is gonna be fun;) I'm thinking about starting a Doctor Who story. And I'm writing an original piece:) As always, let me know what you think!

* * *

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson called, coming up the stairs. "Sherlock, I need to talk to you dear." She walked into 221B's kitchen and saw Sherlock mixing some chemicals. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't even look up. "Yes?"

The sweet old lady smiled at his focus. Only a few people understood Sherlock's quirks and the way he devoted himself to his work. Oh, how he loved his work.

"I was wondering if you would mind taking on a third flatmate for a few months. I know you use the third bedroom to store your notes, but it would only be for a little while.."

"That will be fine," he responded, cutting off her timid rambling.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and started to walk away, small tears welling in her eyes.

"When will you need the room cleared?" Sherlock called after her.

"Sunday."

* * *

Sherlock was moving the last of his notes into his room. The room was now extremely cluttered. Too cluttered to sleep in. However, Sherlock liked the couch when he was on a case, anyway. That was if he even slept. Most of the time he was up all night, never eating, always thinking. Away in his mind palace. Focusing. Always focusing.

John walked in, carrying a bag of groceries. He set it down on the kitchen counter and started putting things away. Milk in the fridge. Ice cream in the freezer. Cookies in the cabinet. Bananas on the counter. That was a dangerous place to leave food.

When he finished, he went to find Sherlock. Sherlock was still in his bedroom. He had decided to reorganize all of his notes while he was at it. Currently, he was busy sorting the differences in stabbings between different types of knives. He picked up a few pages on a harpoon stabbing. Where to put that?  
"Not even going to ask," John said and walked out. He sat down in his chair and pulled his laptop onto his lap. He pushed the power button and watched the screen turn on. A few moments later, it was ready to go.

As John started typing away, a girl living just outside the city was packing her things. She picked up a ring off of her bookshelf and held it in the palm of her hand. It was cool against her skin. For a moment, she stared at it, lost in the memories of a past life. The girl threaded a silver chain through the ring. She fastened the clasp behind her neck, dropping the ring so that it fell against her chest. The girl walked to her mirror and stared at the new pendant lying against her ghostly skin.


	2. Talia

John was sitting in his chair, typing up the latest case that he and Sherlock, well mostly Sherlock, had solved. Sherlock was truly amazing at what he did. In John's 30 years, he'd never met anyone like Sherlock. The case needed a snazzy name, though. The wallowing whale? That sounded interesting, but perhaps it was too weird.

Sherlock was out, God knows where. He tended to disappear a lot. It had been several hours since he left. John had noticed him acting a bit strangely that morning. However, he was Sherlock. Nothing was too strange for him. He'd come back eventually. When he did, he'd probably be covered in blood or dirt or something else gross.

John heard the front door open and footsteps coming up the stairs. He assumed it was Sherlock. When the door to their flat opened, he called, "I don't suppose you got milk while you were out." He kept typing. After a moment, he stopped and turned to face the door to their flat.

He had received no answer. John saw a very confused looking young lady standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry, I..." she stammered. Suddenly, her face grew red. Her hands began to tremble.

John hopped up and out of his chair. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Sherlock," he paused. She still stood there, looking very out of place and starting to cry. Her hands fiddled with the handle of a suitcase at her feet. "Are you a client? Sherlock is out right now, but I can call him and see when he is coming back," he said, his voice laced with worry.

"I'm not a client," she whispered.

"I suppose you aren't," he responded, looking again to her suitcase. Suddenly, he realized he was being rude. "I'm so sorry for my lack of manners. Please come in. Sit down," he said motioning to the couch.

The girl set her suitcase down by the door and walked to the couch. She sat, timidly. Her gaze shifted around the room, taking it all in. Her finger messed with the hem of her shirt. "Can I get you some tea?" he asked. The girl shook her head no.

John sat down awkwardly in his chair. The girl dropped her head and brought her hands over her face. Her body began to shake. She looked up long enough to say, "I'm so sorry." John jumped from his seat to comfort her. He sat next to her on the couch and wrapped his arms around her. She turned and put her arms around him. Her sobs rocked her slim frame as her tears flowed into John's shoulder. The sudden evanescence of the light in her eyes was appalling.  
"Are you okay?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

The girl looked up and tried to gain her composure back. "I'm just going through a lot right now. I thought I was going to be okay coming here today. I thought it would make me feel better, moving into the city. But, it's almost making it worse."

John brushed the hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. He paused for a moment and looked at her face carefully. He couldn't stand to see this young girl look so sad. He asked, "What happened? You're not making sense."

The girl looked up and wiped her eyes on the end of her sleeve. "I'm so sorry. I'm Talia Hudson. My aunt said I could have the extra bedroom in your flat. My parents, they... They..." She started sobbing again. Her words became incoherent. Breathe she thought. "They passed away five weeks ago."

John looked at the poor girl in her arms. He felt so bad for her. He wrapped her in a hug. She let him hold her like that. It felt so safe and secure in his arms. People hadn't known what to say to her after her parents passed. They didn't know what to do to comfort her. So, they didn't. Talia had been left to her own devices. She had to find peace on her own. It was a daily struggle. Something about John was so welcoming, though. Unlike everyone else, he held her and listened to her. She didn't know his name or where he came from. All she knew was that he was there for her while she cried. He held her in his arms and listened to her pathetic story. He didn't mind the tears or feel awkward in the presence of her grief. And that was all she needed. That was all she had wanted after her parent's deaths.

The front door opened. Sherlock walked in. He went directly to the kitchen where he opened the fridge and pulled out a jar of blood. John watched him for a moment with the sobbing girl still on his shoulder. "John, who is the crying girl on our couch?" Sherlock asked, monotone.

John gave him a nasty 'seriously?' look over his shoulder. He didn't even bother answering Sherlock's question. Talia's tears slowed. Her head lifted from John's shoulder and her gaze landed upon Sherlock. She finally answered him for John, "I'm Talia, you're new flatmate." Talia stood slowly and walked into the kitchen. Her legs were wobbly. Sherlock looked up from his microscope, interested. "Are you Sherlock?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Nice to meet you," Talia stuttered. She put her hand out for him to shake. It shook violently from her recent panic attack. Sherlock just stared at her for a moment. The way his eyes searched her made her feel as if she had been struck in the chest. Could he see into her soul? Did he know all her secrets?

Sherlock walked the short distance to her. Then, he started walking around her slowly.

Talia drew her arms around herself, almost hugging herself. Her stance was awkward and off balance.

Sherlock began his deductions, saying them aloud as he went, "Talia." He paused after saying her name. It was an interesting name. He liked the way it rolled off of his tongue. The only other name that brought him that pleasure was John's. Never would he admit that fact, though. After a full revolution around the girl, he continued, "Mrs. Hudson asked if John and I would take on another flatmate. Now, she wouldn't have asked that kind of a favor for just anyone. You're special to her, probably related. You're quite young, but she doesn't have children. Therefore, you must be her niece. You were crying when I came in. There are bags under your eyes. Something horrible happened to you recently. The fact that you just moved here from the countryside, by your muddy hay covered boots, and that you wear a man's wedding ring on a chain says volumes. I suspect that your parents just died. That would also explain Mrs. Hudson's tears when she asked if you could stay here. She just lost her brother. Look at you. You're what they call a train wreck. Auburn hair disheveled. Jade eyes bloodshot. Clothes don't match. You need sleep and food. You appear to be slipping into depression."

He was about to comment on the state of her arms. He could see the scars peaking out of the end of her sleeve. However, he was interrupted.  
"SHERLOCK!" John screamed, jumping from his chair. He put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock stopped his pacing and looked at John, wondering why he had stopped him. Talia looked up at Sherlock's piercing eyes. The blissful look started to slip from his face. He had enjoyed that. Enjoyed ripping her apart. When he saw her starting to cry again, his eyes softened. He didn't mean to hurt her, but Talia didn't know that. She did not yet understand that Sherlock was incapable of feeling or interpreting emotion. That doing deductions and solving cases brought him the pleasure that his constant boredom lacked. It was the one thing that kept him from tipping over the edge, from starting on the drugs again, from going insane.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered. He walked back to his microscope and continued his work. No one saw the look of regret on his face after he turned his back. John had rubbed off on him, but Sherlock still lacked the fundamental understanding of the frailty of a human heart. This often caused him to hurt people. Sometimes even John.

John turned to Talia. He started to say words of comfort, but they wouldn't come. He reached out to her. However, she pulled away. Talia grabbed her suitcase from the front door and walked down the hallway to the door on the right that was now her room. Mrs. Hudson was out of the town for the next few days. She wasn't sure if the boys were going to be home when Talia got there. So, she gave Talia a key and told her how to get to her room. Talia was now very grateful for that.

She shut the door behind her and leaned back against it. Tears slipped down her face. Deep breaths. That was what her therapist had told her. The therapist that her aunt and uncle, on her mother's side, had made her see. Everyone knew she was depressed. They thought she had tried to commit suicide. No one would listen to her. For God's sake, her parents had died and all they could do was judge her. Here she was, a twenty four year old girl all alone. She'd always lived with her parents. They let her stay with them while she attended college in nearby London. But now they were gone. She was all alone.  
Talia kicked the suitcase. It hurt her toes but she ignored the pain. She collapsed on her new bed.

No more tears would come. She was fresh out.

* * *

This story is going to be rough for the first few chapters. I wanted to write a girl that wasn't fierce and strong for once. I'm going to try and write about her working through her grief a bit so it might be very sad at times. Also, I've changed their ages to fit my needs. Sherlock is 27. John is 30. Talia is 24. R&R!:)


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